


Terror

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: Only in private can Tarn question his work.
Kudos: 5





	Terror

**Author's Note:**

> [First posted to Tumblr on November 8, 2013 as “TF - Terror.” Crossposted to Archive of Our Own on March 14, 2020. Original notes have been kept.]
> 
> Tarn character study, I think? I guess that’s what I’d classify this as. Heh.
> 
> Rated T for The DJD/Tarn Being The DJD/Tarn aka Canon-Typical Violence

Tarn’s Decepticon Justice Division lived to inflict terror into traitors, and anyone who opposed their mighty, Lord Megatron.

And the most terrifying thing about the Decepticon Justice Division, Tarn had noted from general opinion, was that one could never tell if they had managed to make The List or not. There was something frightening in not knowing. Wondering.

To outsiders, it often seemed as if names were added on a whim. “I haven’t defected! Why are you here for me!?” he’d heard some shout, just as desperately as the ones who had betrayed their great cause openly, and had long known that their names were selected. Tarn had heard the whispers around him, the rumors that anything could catch his attention.

Which was nonsense, of course. There was a rhyme and reason to it all that Tarn protected with all of his spark, as his duty. Take the Autobot Drift, for example: His name had never once been penned to Kaon’s faithfully kept list, whether as ‘Deadlock’ or 'Drift.’

Not only had he been personally invited into the fold by Megatron himself–a fact many would use to argue as proof that Drift’s name should be on the list, as if it made his betrayal all the worse–which Tarn instead considered proof of worth, but he also had left their flock in true Decepticon manner: Attempting to murder his superiors to rise in the ranks. He ran away from Turmoil, because he lost the fight, not because he’d given up the Decepticon Cause.

Losing in and of itself was not something that added your name to The List. If that were the case, the Decepticon Army would be decimated by Tarn alone–to his deep regret.

As far as taking up the Autobrand, Tarn chuckled, it was only a name.

During the debate of whether or not his “switch of sides,” would deem him worthy of punishment, Tarn observed the trigger happy mech. All that had changed was his name. Despite his pretty new words, and new found relations–nothing had changed. He was still possessive and greedy, though he had learned to hide it better. Drift was Deadlock, and Deadlock was Drift. He cut through everything in his path with the same fierce brutality that had gained Megatron’s personal approval and attention prior to the war.

“Drift” was a Decepticon at spark, and that was enough.

A shriek of grinding metal filled the room, drawing Tarn from his thoughts. The division leader looked away from the window, and across the room to where Tesarus was teasing a single finger at a time through his spinning fan. Each digit disappeared in a screaming whirl of blades, accompanied by the choked sobs of the victim. Tarn turned away from the snickering Tesarus and Helex and left the room.

Now there was a lowly grunt who barely deserved his time, let alone special attention. A coward, and a traitor. That one had gone neutral. One of the few cases that disgusted so much, that Tarn considered a shot to the spark chamber to put him out of the misery of his mere existence was a waste of time. However, Tesarus was bored.

Why not let him have his fun?

In the privacy of the hallway, Tarn transformed into his tank mode. The twisting gears slid into place, and his treads hitting the ground moved him in all the right ways. His Transformation Cog whined as it was immediately put to use again bringing Tarn back to his feet. He shivered in delight. He repeated this motion, driving forward in tank mode, than taking steps, until he reached his hab-suite. The terrified screams of Tesarus’ play thing echoed in the background.

Terror. The Decepticon Justice Division was all about terror, wasn’t it?

Terrify them into following the cause. Scare them so badly they couldn’t even so much as comprehend the thought of leaving or running. Inflict such body shaking tremors that their fear was a palpable source of pain to the unworthy.

Justice through fear.

Safe in his quarters, Tarn reached up and clicked off his mask. He held it in his hands as he collapsed in his favorite chair, and let the weight of his thoughts engulf him. Tarn’s thumb brushed along the side of the seams, tracing out the symbol their leader had chosen to represent himself and the Decepticon Cause–though that was a bit of a misnomer. Megatron and The Decepticon Cause were one in the same. A single entity.

Megatron was a Decepticon’s everything. His will was law, and his leadership absolute. He was Tarn’s chosen master. The one who gave the six-phaser purpose in life, his job and calling wrapped into one.

However, that Tarn’s job was required at all broke his spark.

Autobots were Autobots. They had rejected Megatron and his ways from the start. Tarn understood their hatred and rebellion, though he disagreed vehemently. No, it was the Decepticons that confused him–why would one join with Megatron, if they required to be terrorized into it to stay there? How did one become enlightened to the truth of Megatron’s rightful rule, and somehow…forget it?

Tarn wasn’t sure he could comprehend how it was possible, but with the sheer numbers of mechs that gained a place on his List a day, that were already there, and who had already received punishment–perhaps it was more possible than he wanted to admit.

Doubt and wrongness creeping into the processors of the otherwise faithful, dragging them down into the depths of betrayal against their better nature.

Perhaps that was why lately, Tarn’s job held no pleasure despite being gifted to him by Lord Megatron. He punished the lost, giving them the full weight of horror that they had earned by turning against Megatron and his ideals–but. But, they were still lost. Little lost sheep who had no chance or place of repentance.

Tarn grieved for them.

Such foolish things. Tarn set his mask on the side table and rubbed under his optics, tracing the scars. He was growing soft with it all, but only when alone. Always when alone. In public, he had a duty to uphold. Megatron had granted him this position, and this privilege. The right to mediate the fates of Megatron’s chosen children. Tarn treasured this right, more than his own spark’s worth.

So he would only question it when he was alone. Where no one could hear his doubts and his regret at the lost chances of repaired bonds. How many had he heard pleading that they’d change? That they were sorry? To make mistakes was what it meant to be alive. And sometimes, Tarn questioned his leader’s orders to strike down first, and to ignore those pleas. That Tarn must abandon all hope of drawing the flock back in, and instead must condemn them as examples.

Tarn hummed to himself, and flickered his optics off. A lullaby. Something to tear his thoughts away from themselves. To silence and smother that creeping doubt. Yes, he would keep it to himself. No one could know of these thoughts.

No one was more terrified of being added to The List more than Tarn himself.


End file.
